


The Mystery of the Reappearing Ex-Husband

by Persiflager



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Post Episode: s05e20 Enemy at the Gate, Post-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They embraced briefly and Nancy kissed John on his freshly-shaved cheek, as if they were normal exes who exchanged polite Christmas cards and occasionally had brunch. </p>
<p>“What are you doing in San Francisco?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery of the Reappearing Ex-Husband

The hotel room was bland and comfortable, with a pastel print of the Golden Gate Bridge on the wall and a view of the real thing out the window. The bridge looked black and stark against the orange haze of the setting sun.

It didn’t _look_ suspicious, but Nancy still swept for bugs before pulling out the meeting details for the next morning and reading them again.

The letter was vague to the point of impenetrability – they wanted her to take on a new job as Homeland Security liaison to a multi-agency taskforce for an unspecified project, reporting to a committee she’d never heard of, with the highest security clearance she’d ever seen. The salary and benefits were given but apart from that she wouldn’t find out anything about the job until she took it.

Nancy’s boss hadn’t been able to add anything other than that the transfer request had come from very high up, that he suspected the military were involved, and that she’d be mad to even consider taking it.

Nancy thought she’d be mad not to.

…

On the way down to the hotel restaurant Nancy counted five different senior-looking, out of uniform military types and therefore probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was to see her ex-husband in the lobby, his hands shoved in his pockets, leaning against the wall and watching everyone as they came in.

John was out of uniform too, or rather in his preferred personal uniform of black shirt and dark jeans. There was something subtly wrong about the juxtaposition of him against the conventional, business-like background - almost as if he’d been photo-shopped in from another picture, one with a much wilder landscape.

“John,” she said, warily, when she got close.

He turned and straightened up when he saw her, taking his hands out of his pockets. “Nancy.” It felt rather like a clandestine meeting between undercover agents.

They embraced briefly and Nancy kissed him on his freshly-shaved cheek, as if they were normal exes who exchanged polite Christmas cards and occasionally had brunch. “What are you doing in San Francisco?” 

“Work.”

“What am _I_ doing in San Francisco?” 

“Sorry,” said John, looking guilty, which could have meant ‘sorry, I don’t know’, ‘sorry, I can’t tell you’, or ‘sorry, I’ve dragged you into trouble again and you’re going to be pissed off when you find out what it is’. 

“Well,” said Nancy, when John didn’t elaborate, “I’m going to have dinner.”

“Right,” said John, taking half a step back. “Sure.”

“Would you like to join me?” 

“Ok,” said John, and he looked honestly, uncomplicatedly pleased to be asked.

…

The restaurant was busy, with no music but the background hum of conversation. 

“What’s good?” asked John, staring at the menu. 

“The sirloin steak is excellent, sir,” said the waiter.

A dreamy expression crossed John’s face. “I haven’t had a really good steak in - three years?”

It was surreal. Nancy had only seen John twice in the past six years, and after his father’s funeral she honestly hadn’t expected to ever see him again. She was starting to regret the impulse that had made her ask him to join her, except that John almost certainly knew more about what was going on than she did and there was always a chance, however slim, that he’d tell her something. 

They ordered their food and Nancy threw in a bottle of red wine as well. 

“You don’t have to run off somewhere?” 

”Not tonight,” said John. 

“You look happy. I take it this job’s been good to you.”

John blinked and looked lost in thought. “Yeah, I guess it’s had its moments,” he said eventually, rousing himself. “So, what about you? How’s - Grant?”

“Fine, as far as I know,” said Nancy. It had been a civilised break-up, with calm voices and few recriminations; they were going to have brunch the next time she was in town. Nancy was getting very good at break-ups. It had come as something of a shock to realise that being better at long-term relationships than John Sheppard didn’t necessarily mean she was any good at them.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” said John, and he looked it. “That sucks.” 

“He wanted kids, I didn’t. We both hoped the other would change their mind.” Nancy wasn’t sure why she was telling John this, other than he was one of the few people she knew who wouldn’t think it was her fault. “How about you? Seeing anyone?”

“Nah. It’s -” He made a gesture with his hands that might have mimed an explosion. “- complicated.”

They both drank their wine in a silent toast to the loveless. 

“Have you spoken to Dave since the funeral?”

John nodded, looking pained. “Few emails. And I went back to the house, after. Met his boyfriend. That was kind of a curveball.”

“Stefan’s great,” said Nancy.

“Can’t imagine the old man took that well.”

“At first? No. But he came round. He changed, you know. Maybe he worried that if he didn’t, Dave would disappear like you did.”

“That’s not - well, no, that’s probably fair,” said John, looking rueful.

Five years ago, Nancy would have been thrilled to hear John acknowledge that maybe his father hadn’t been entirely to blame for their stormy relationship; now she just felt the quiet, calm contentment that came with maturity.

Or maybe it was the wine. 

“How’s your tall friend, the one with the dreadlocks?”

“Ronon? Oh, he’s great. Got himself a girlfriend and everything.”

“Good for him.”

“Yeah.”

Clearly making a heroic effort, John asked after her friends and family and that kept them safely occupied until the steaks arrived. They were good steaks, tender and bloody. John cut into his with an undignified haste and chewed his first mouthful with the closed-eyed bliss of a man undergoing a profound religious experience.

Nancy finished eating first and let her gaze wander round the room, looking for familiar faces and threats out of professional habit. She found herself looking at a mirror on the far side of the room that reflected her and John. They could have been colleagues, friends, a couple on a date, even a divorced couple having an amicable, slightly awkward dinner. She amused herself for a few minutes by inventing increasingly unlikely scenarios and back-stories for the people they appeared to be; her favorite was ‘Lucy Malone, PI, goes undercover to get crucial information on Jack McGuire, international playboy and suspected jewel thief’.

Nancy watched as Jack ate his steak, drank his wine, and checked Lucy out - obviously, deliberately, his gaze dwelling on her breasts. The thrill of surprise ran through her, leaving warm, flushed skin in its wake, and landed in her stomach where it curled up and shivered quietly with pleasure.

Resisting the urge to lean back and show off, Nancy looked at John’s reflection. He’d acquired a few more lines and gray hairs since she last saw him, and a lot more than the mental image she still held in her mind, but they suited him. He looked very fit. He still had that loose, lazy way of moving that she’d always liked, as if his body was a favorite pair of jeans that he’d just thrown on. He’d always looked even better naked.

Feeling her pulse quicken, Nancy turned her attention back to the John who was sitting opposite her, giving him plenty of time to shift his gaze somewhere less incriminating. He caught her eye and smiled, eyes crinkling, and suddenly she remembered what it felt like to be twenty-three and falling in love for the first time.

…

After dessert they split the bill and wandered back out to the hotel lobby.

“Same,” said John when Nancy pushed the button for her floor.

They stood close in the elevator, almost touching, until the doors pinged open and John walked Nancy to her door.

“So, I-“ he said just as she was saying, “Are we-“

They both broke off.

“Goodnight,” said John, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His lips landed on the corner of her mouth, soft and sweet.

Nancy looked at him when he pulled back. His eyes were a clear, light green in the artificial light of the corridor. With her heels on, they were nearly the same height.

They both moved at the same time. He kissed her properly this time, or she kissed him – either way, it was easy, two people moving together with a single thought, mouths open, bodies pressing together. His lips were hot, his hands warm through the thin silk of her blouse.

The elevator pinged and they broke apart.

“Um,” John said, looking flustered, “I should-“ He gestured along the corridor.

“You could come in,” said Nancy mildly, as if she was just pointing out the possibility and had no particular preference either way.

The tops of John’s ears went pink. “That’s, uh, probably a bad idea.”

“Ok.”

“See you tomorrow,” said John, and he turned and practically ran down the hallway.

…

When she was a kid, Nancy had been obsessed by Nancy Drew. She collected all the books and was convinced that sharing the same name meant that she was destined to live Nancy Drew’s charmed life - strawberry-blonde hair (which Nancy at the time thought meant ‘pink’), cute boyfriends and always getting to find out what was going on. She even wrote a fan letter on pink, strawberry-scented paper to Carolyn Keene, asking what advice she had for aspiring girl detectives.

Carolyn didn’t reply.

Thirty years later, Nancy knows that Carolyn Keene never existed - she was a name made up by a book producing syndicate so that they could hire different ghost-writers and keep all the royalties. She also knows that cute boyfriends don’t necessarily make great husbands, and that strawberry blonde hair (a) is in fact a light, ginger-y shade, and (b) doesn’t suit her at all.

But she still likes to find out what’s going on.

 

…

 

The next time Nancy saw John she was standing on the deck of a floating alien city/spaceship from another galaxy in the middle of San Francisco Bay, the sun in her eyes and wind buffeting her hair.

“-and I believe you know Colonel Sheppard,” said Mr Woolsey as John waltzed up in full uniform. “Colonel, Ms Sheppard is going to be our liaison with Homeland Security while Atlantis is on Earth. She’s going to be working closely with the SGC to ensure the city’s safety and, as far as possible, keep public knowledge to a minimum.”

“So I heard,” said John, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Mr Woolsey with a nod, and he turned away to speak to one of the other visitors. 

“Aliens,” said Nancy, smiling so hard her face hurt. “Stargates, transporter beams, and _aliens_. I take it I have you to thank for this?”

John screwed up his face. “Not sure thank is the right word - you might want to read some of the mission reports - but yeah, I put your name forward.”

“Why?”

“You’re good at your job, and I trust you,” said John, as simply and blithely as if that was something he’d told her a hundred times before. “And I think I know you well enough that I’ll be able to tell if you get possessed by an alien entity.”

“Is that something that’s likely to happen?”

John grinned and spread his arms out wide, encompassing the deck and the sea and the shining spires of this alien city that he apparently called home. “Welcome to Atlantis.”


End file.
